


five months (that ain’t just five months)

by mine_eyes_dazzle



Category: Without a Trace
Genre: Angst, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-26 07:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20926571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mine_eyes_dazzle/pseuds/mine_eyes_dazzle
Summary: You’re heatstroke heartsick, kicking up dust on the highway back into the city after closing up a case, itching for a drink.[...]You’ve spent too many hours alone with him in the heat, chasing shadows.—-Jack and Sam and their affair. (pre-show)





	five months (that ain’t just five months)

* * *

**April**

‘God I could use a drink.’

You laugh. You can taste the blood in the back of your mouth, sawdust too.

Jack lies on his back next to you on the floor, the smell of gunpowder heavy in the air.

He touches your lip, takes away his hand and looks at the splash of red blood.

‘You hurt?’

You wanna laugh, you wanna put his hand back on your face. You hate yourself for feeling so weak, roll onto your side and say, ‘Got ourselves a shooter to catch, slowcoach,’ and you leave him there in the dirt, cause it’s easier, right.

You don’t fuck your married boss. You don’t even think about it.

* * *

**May**

He’s alone in his office. You push open the door and stand there, half in, half out, and watch.

When he looks up, you don’t like the fact your heart gets lighter when his eyes crease a little at the sight of you.

You take a step in, hold your hands behind you and lean on the cool glass of the door.

‘Just thought I’d let you know I’ve finished the Carson case paperwork.’

‘Good,’ he says. Nothing more, nothing less. You watch him fiddle with the wedding ring on his left hand.

You swallow. Be a good girl, Samantha.

‘I’m heading home now. See you tomorrow.’

You feel his eyes on you the whole way to the elevator.

* * *

**June**

Sunglasses on, hair scraped back, early morning light on a front porch in suburban heaven where another family’s crying cause mommy didn’t come home or daddy disappeared.

You kicked a guy out your bed that morning, wears the shades to hide the hangover. You think he won’t notice. He notices.

In the car on the way back to HQ, he says, through gritted teeth, ‘Good night last night?’

You shrug and crack the window.

His voice taking an edge you don’t recognise, he says, ‘Don’t do it again, Agent Spade.’

And you bite back bile and don’t say a word, pretending neither of you can hear the jealousy in his voice.

* * *

**July**

Danny asks if you want to join him and Viv at the bar. They’re celebrating breaking the case but you say no, make some excuse that you’ve got paperwork to fill out.

Lie lie lie. You’ve got one eye on his office, the way he loosens his tie as he speaks down the phone.

Danny shrugs, wanders off to collect his things. You head to the office, hand hovering to knock when you hear him.

‘I’ll be home soon, Maria.’ A beat. ‘Love you too.’ He puts the phone down. You turn on your heel, call out to Danny, slinging his bag over his shoulder, Viv waiting just behind.

‘The offer still standing?’ She grins when he say yes. ‘Paperwork can wait til the morning.’

* * *

**August**

You’re heatstroke heartsick, kicking up dust on the highway back into the city after closing up a case, itching for a drink.

You want to reach over and take his tie off. He looks too buttoned together. You tap your heel against the car footwell. It clangs in the silence. You meet eyes with his in the mirror.

You’ve spent too many hours alone with him in the heat, chasing shadows.

You never shoulda taken this job. In over your head, Sammy-girl. Shoulda run when you had the chance.

He pulls the car up outside your apartment. You know what’s gonna happen, you’ve known ever since you made him stop the car in some dead end rest stop in the middle of nowhere so you could eat ice cream and scream at yourself to get a grip in the bathroom mirror.

He doesn’t move. His hands are going white on the steering wheel. You should tell him to go home. To his wife.

You don’t. You say, ‘Wanna come up for a drink? I’ve got bourbon.’

* * *

**September**

Autumn leaves are turning and you crunch them under your boots as you climb out the car.

He left you in your bed in the morning when the call came in, stuck a note on the pillow, unable to wake you. You can see him across the grass now, ordering Danny around.

Across at the passenger side, Viv clambers out and joins you on the kerb. She slides her hands into her pockets. She called you, you drove by her place and gave her a ride up here.

She follows your gaze and says, ‘I know he’s Jack and you think you know what you’re doing,’ you turn back to look at her, ‘but just be careful, yeah?’

You stare at her for a moment. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Sam,’ she says with weariness that makes you stand up a little straighter, ‘I'm not blind. And you’re not stupid. So, I'll say it again. Just be careful.’

* * *

**October**

He is lying on your bed listing off paint colours.

‘Duck-egg blue?’

You sit down on the edge of the duvet, hand him a cup of tea, balance your own on your lap.

‘Nah. Not blue.’

‘More a beige girl at heart?’

You reach over, push him in the chest gently. ‘Hey.’ Then, lifting your cup of tea and putting it on the desk, ‘I don’t think being a ‘beige girl’ is a compliment.’

‘That might be so.’ He laughs, then presses an open mouthed kiss to the curve of your knee, folded just next to him.

‘Maybe red?’ he says.

‘What, cause I’m the scarlet woman?’

It hangs in the air, a line crossed, and you close your eyes. Shit shit shit.

You reach out a hand, place it palm down on his thigh. ‘Sorry,’ you say. ‘Jack, I'm really-‘

He stops you with a kiss. ‘Don’t be.’ He rests his forehead against yours.

‘You thought about purple?’

* * *

**November**

He’s asleep. He looks younger like that. He doesn’t usually sleep, usually he’s out the door quick, back to his home, making you painfully aware you’re only a stop gap for him.

But now he’s asleep. Earlier, when you were tumbled together in the sheets, you made your lip bleed by biting it too hard. When he asked what happened you shrugged.

Couldn’t exactly tell him you were stopping yourself saying ‘I love you,’ caught up in the moment. Now, out the other side, you’re glad you didn’t say it.

It’s not something you come back from.

* * *

**December**

You’re drawing patterns on his chest. There’s something heavy on the air.

You put some Christmas music on earlier when you were eating, putting those stupid paper crowns on each other’s heads, drinking too much wine. You danced to all i want for Christmas in the kitchen after you swapped presents.

And now here you are, lying side by side, the darkness just beginning to settle in outside the window.

There’s a part of you that knows it’s coming. Christmas is a time for family, after all, makes the guilt stick more in the back of the throat.

He fumbles a kiss to your hair.

‘I can’t do this anymore,’ he says.

You don’t say anything.

* * *

**January**

A part of you can’t understand how it’s over. You see him every day, have to catch yourself from saying things you’ll regret.

It’s worse back at your place, his ghost walking the halls. You have to stop yourself picking up the phone sometimes at night time to ask him to come over. That’d be a bad plan, Sam. A bad idea.

Instead, you cry yourself to sleep sometimes, or go out and get drunk, take someone home, or on one particularly bad night, decide to paint the room velvet sunset (his favourite colour, apparently) but only get as far as buying the can of paint before you come to your senses.

He pulls you into his office about a month after and you stand, arms folded, in front of him, unable to meet his gaze.

‘You ok?’

You shrug.

‘Life goes on, right?’

**February**

And on. And on. Heart bleeds quietly in the corner when he talks, smiles, pretends you didn’t used to sneak around. Hard to be over, right, even when it’s over.

Feelings and all that shit, right?

You just want to scream.

Not over 'til it’s over (and it never will be)

**Author's Note:**

> Watched seasons 1-3 of Without a Trace. Had feelings.


End file.
